


Odi Et Amo

by Salamandriod



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Jealousy, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-24 00:49:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7486854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salamandriod/pseuds/Salamandriod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whether he acknowledges the fact or not, Jim is still human, and like everyone else he has his own soulmate marks on his wrists. They never discuss it, but Sebastian is content to pretend that Jim's marks referred to him. Sometimes, though, he isn't sure if they're meant to be soulmates or rivals.</p><p>AU in which everyone has two names on their wrists, one being their soulmate and one being their rival, but they can't tell which is which.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Odi Et Amo

“Did it hurt?” Jim asks nonchalantly one day, not even bothering to look up from his morning tea.

 

Sebastian flashes an easy smile before replying, “We both know I crawled out of hell, just like you.”

 

That earns him a glare. Evidently, Jim doesn’t find his joke as funny as he does. Then again, Jim almost never finds his jokes as amusing.

 

“You know what I meant,” Jim replies sharply. He gives a little huff and pointedly returns his attention to the newspaper.

 

Sebastian’s smile falters a little and the hand not holding his coffee clenches subconsciously. Of course he knows what Jim is referring to, he’s not the idiot their clients believe he is. In the years they’ve known each other, the two scars on his wrists were the one thing he refused to talk about.

 

“Any wound hurts,” Sebastian answers after a moment, trying to sound as casual as before. He consciously unclenches his hand and pretends not to notice Jim looking at it from the corner of his eyes. “Just because the name of my soulmate might have been there doesn’t mean it hurt any more than any other wound. Getting shot full of bullets hurt more than a few little burns.”

 

Jim doesn’t move, but Sebastian can tell that he’s considering his answer. After a long moment, he shrugs and gives a small, amused hum. “I’d always wondered if the tales were true. Thought I could incorporate it into some tortures, if it was.”

 

Sebastian shakes his head. “It’s more effort than it’s worth,” he assures quietly. Silence returns between them as they continue their morning routine without another mention of the scars.

 

 

As much as he would like to deny it, Jim has a name on each wrist as well, just like all the ordinary humans he likes to lord himself over. Somewhere in his very core he is still human, much to his dismay.

 

Sebastian knows this, though he’s likely the only one still alive that does. Jim keeps himself wrapped up in sharp suits and thick banded watches, covering such human weaknesses as soulmates from anyone who’d dare use it against him. He was the exception, of course, catching glimpses on the names on his wrists as they lounged about the flat and getting up close looks when they were together in bed.

 

He also knows that it’s best to let sleeping dogs lie, so he never asks what Jim thinks of the silvery _Sebastian_ written across his left wrist. It’s not as though Jim would ever admit to having a soulmate, regardless if the Sebastian on his wrist referred to him or not. They had come to act enough like a couple as it was, and he is happy to leave their relationship at that without adding soulmates into the mix.

 

Still, sometimes after Jim has fallen asleep, Sebastian kisses the _Sebastian_ on his wrist and thanks any god that will listen that it matches the silvery _James_ that used to be written on his own.

 

 

The moment their recruit tells them that the cabbie was taken down by one Sherlock Holmes is the moment Sebastian knows he’s in for some trouble. Jim takes a keen interest in the news of the detective. After all, with a name as uncommon and, frankly, as ridiculous as Sherlock, there is no one else that could be the counterpart to the name written across Jim’s right wrist.

 

Jim dismisses the recruit, and neither of them talk about Sherlock. They each resume their work as though nothing had happened, elephant in the room or not. Sebastian notices, however, that he keeps getting distracted by the thought of not being Jim’s soulmate. Every time it comes up he assures himself that they already have a history of being partners, while Sherlock has already meddled in Jim’s plans. He could only hope that the trends would continue in the same way.

 

At first, it seems like it does, at least superficially. Sherlock continues to meddle in Jim’s schemes, and nothing changes between them at home. Jim occasionally spends an extra hour or two at the office, and Sebastian writes it off as just a few demanding clients adding strain on him.

 

He’s quickly proven wrong, unfortunately. He catches sight of some of Jim’s notes for a game to play with Sherlock, and for the first time in months he feels a knot of worry in his gut. He doesn’t want to anger Jim, though, so he doesn’t confront him about what appears to be a little crush.

 

Or, at least, he tries not to, but he can’t help himself when he’s asked to snatch up Watson. “You’re kidding, right?” he asks, unsure if he should laugh or be astonished.

 

Jim shoots him a glare that tells him to do neither. “Are you questioning my orders, Moran?” he snaps. “I need Watson to finish this plan off.”

 

Sebastian gives a curt nod before leaving. He doesn’t feel like adding any new scars to his collection for angering Jim further, so, like a good soldier, he goes off and brings Watson to the pool without another word. It’s not until he’s rigging him up in the semtex coat that he decides to sate his curiosity. He gives a hard tug on Watson’s sleeves, and sure enough on his right wrist is a silvery _Sherlock._ It isn’t surprising in the least to Sebastian, he’d seen how they looked at each other on the tapes, and it certainly wasn’t like rivals. Sebastian makes a small huff, then gives him a shove to signify he was done.

 

“I hope you aren’t jealous,” John says as he tugs his sleeves back down.

 

The words stop Sebastian in his tracks, just for a moment as he considers his answer carefully. He then yanks one of the leather gloves off of his hand so he can show off the burned mess where one of his marks should have been. “I’ve a lot to be jealous of, but neither you nor Sherlock is really my type,” he sneers, carefully avoiding looking at John’s expression. If you see one horrified look, you’ve seen them all. He tugs his glove back on and takes his perch in the rafters, waiting for the show to start.

 

 

In the end, it’s not the fact that Jim was nearly blown up because of his own hubris that bothers Sebastian, it’s the way that he looked at Sherlock. There was none of the anger that he would have expected from ruining so many of Jim’s plans, only brightly burning curiosity. Sebastian’s only solace was in the knowledge of how Sherlock and John looked at each other when Jim had left the first time.

 

“What do you think of Sherlock?” Sebastian asks the next day. There was no point in dancing around it. Jim was too clever for that to ever work.

 

Jim peeks up over the top of the newspaper, an amused glint in his eyes. “Jealous, tiger?” he drawls. “He’s _interesting._ Nothing more.”

 

“Mr _Interesting_ nearly got us all killed, you know.”

 

“I’m very aware, you did make your point about safety well enough in your rant last night,” Jim says. He puts the newspaper down so he can pin Sebastian in place with his gaze as he leans back. “Just because I think he’s _interesting_ doesn’t mean he’s my soulmate. He could just as easily be my rival. No need to worry your pretty little head.”

 

Sebastian presses his lips into a thin line, but doesn’t respond right away. He briefly considers telling Jim everything about the names that used to be on his wrists, but he holds his tongue. Jim is right, he supposes, but he doesn’t think he is. He seemed too invested in Sherlock at the pool to settle for just being rivals.

 

“Just be smart about this. I don’t want you nearly getting blown up again,” he says at last. He stands to take their plates to the kitchen, not particularly wanting to continue the conversation.

 

“My, my, you really are jealous, aren’t you?” Jim drawls behind him. He can hear the smirk in his voice, but he doesn’t turn around. “I’ll be safe just for you, Sebastian.”

 

 

In Sebastian’s eyes, Jim is anything but smart or safe as he pursues Sherlock. It used to be easy to make Jim stick to a regular set of working hours, but since their meeting at the pool Jim had started staying later and later. Some nights it would be well past midnight before Sebastian would feel Jim crawl into bed beside him.

 

Sebastian hopes that the long nights are just a phase, though, so he does his best to let it go. It helps that Jim acts so normal during their free time together, never once even alluding to Sherlock. During those times he can let himself believe that it’s just a phase. He convinces himself that it will pass and things will return to what they had with time, and he can afford to give Jim that.

 

Unfortunately, things have to get worse before they can get better. It starts out with small arguments over simple things: who should go on what missions, so-and-so needs tomorrow off urgently, I need to get this project done, Moran- _don’t bother me again_. Sebastian lets the arguments go, too, figuring that tensions were just running high from work and lack of sleep.

 

Sebastian pretends not to notice how things are progressively getting worse. He pretends to be asleep when Jim crawls into bed just before dawn, if he returns home at all. He pretends that he isn’t bothered by the quickly dwindling time they spend together or the ever increasing amount of arguments they have. _It’s just a phase_ , he reminds himself, praying that it’s true.

 

He snaps when Jim simply vanishes for a few days. He’d been told nothing and Jim hadn’t made any changes in the schedule, so he has to deal with a few hectic days where he met with clients instead of Jim. Sebastian can run the business, yes, but in comparison to Jim’s smoothly running machine he was just fumbling to keep it afloat. He hears the rumors that their employees spread - that Jim’s dead, that he’s really just working on a top secret project, that Sebastian’s been wanting to run everything for a long while now - but he doesn’t address any of them. When anyone asks him, he just says that Jim will be back soon and doesn’t let them know that he’s frantically searching for him in his little free time.

 

Jim returns just as suddenly as he disappeared. He walks in the front door as Sebastian is making breakfast, dressed casually and with no visible wounds.

 

Sebastian jumps when he turns around and sees him, and he can feel rage simmering just under his skin. He holds it in long enough to put the pan down and step away from any knives. Jim is still his boss, no matter how angry he is.

 

“Where the _fuck_ have you been? Do you know the mess you’ve caused at the office? Half of our employees think you’re dead, and I know there’s at least six of your clients that are planning on trying to steal the business away,” he snaps.

 

Jim flashes him a smile, but he can tell it’s forced. “I’m sure you’ve done just fine in keeping things running. You’ve seen me work long enough, you can more than handle anything that comes your way,” he replies. He tries to continue into the flat, but Sebastian blocks his way.

 

“You still didn’t tell me where you were. You could have been dead, for all I knew.” Sebastian can see that Jim is tired, and for a moment he considers dragging him to bed and watching him to make sure he actually sleeps. He quickly shoves the thought out of his mind for now. Jim still hadn’t given him answers.

 

“I just needed to pay a visit to Holmes, nothing to-“

 

“You were with _Holmes_?” Sebastian snarls. He can’t help it, he’d held back his jealously for too long, and mixed with his anger it came leaping out like a wounded tiger. “You need to fucking tell me these things before you go off and do them.”

 

Either Sebastian’s tone or his accusation perk Jim up, bringing him out of the faint tired stupor that had clung to him. “No need to be so jealous, Moran. For the record, I wasn’t with Sherlock, I was with Mycroft. I needed information that only he could give, and you know what? I got it. I’m safe, I’m fine, I don’t need to run every little plan by you for approval. Even if you run things in my absence I’m still your boss. Do not forget it,” he snaps.

 

Sebastian grimaces when he hears Mycroft’s name. “I’d almost rather you’d been off gallivanting around with Sherlock. Mycroft’s dangerous, what if he trapped you without my knowing? You’d be rotting in some dirty prison and I’d be lost looking for you.”

 

“I can handle myself, you know,” Jim sneers. “You don’t have to come in and rescue me every time I might be slightly in danger. Some things are best handled with as few people as possible.”

 

“Even if you can handle taking on Mycroft, of all people, on your own, you should still have backup ready. I can’t run the business like you can.”

 

“I can take on Mycroft on my own, so you know. And if you dare try to insinuate that I can’t again I will cut your tongue out in your sleep. I only need a little bit longer, so do try to control your jealousy.”

 

Sebastian can still feel his anger burning under his skin, but he clenches his hands at his side and tries to quell it. “Yes, sir,” he replies through grit teeth.

 

A shadow of a smile twitches at Jim’s lips. “I won’t be at the office today. Don’t complain about not being competent enough, I know you are. I’ll be there tomorrow,” he says.

 

Sebastian nods and steps aside, letting Jim pass into the hallway and into the bedroom. Once he’s out of sight he sighs and rubs his hands over his face, trying to work his anger away. When he feels he can face the day again, he turns back to his breakfast and decides that he can handle one more day without sleep, especially if it meant that Jim rested instead.

 

 

It turns out ‘a little more time,’ as Jim had said, was actually a bit over a month. When he was given the files for his newest job, he thought things might be starting to head back to normal since he saw the word ‘bodyguard’ in the text. He thought at first it was just another tiring meeting that he had to sit through, but as he flipped through the file his jaw dropped.

 

“You’re planning on getting caught,” he says after practically storming into Jim’s study.

 

“I see you’ve read the briefing,” Jim replies dryly. He keeps tapping away at his laptop, completely unfazed.

 

“Why?”

 

“I need to draw Sherlock out for our game.”

 

Sebastian slams his hand down on Jim’s desk, finally drawing his attention away from his screen. “So this is about _him_ again. How am I not surprised?” he sneers.

 

“Now what did I say about your jealousy, Moran?” Jim replies coldly. He leans back in his seat and watches as Sebastian deflates a little.

 

“I just don’t see the point in breaking into the Tower of London for a game, sir.”

 

“Just trust me, and make sure that no one tries to kill me.”

 

Sebastian grits his teeth together and nods. “Will I need to break you out of prison later?” he asks calmly.

 

Jim laughs, and for a split second Sebastian feels his spirits lift at the sound. “No need to worry about that, Sebastian. I won’t be convicted in the first place,” he assures.

 

Sebastian wants to ask how, but something tells him that Jim would keep it a secret anyhow. He just turns and leaves to gather his things for the day.

 

 

Much to Sebastian’s surprise, both the break ins and the subsequent trial go smoothly. Jim isn’t convicted, just as he promised, but it takes him longer than it should to get home. When he does return, Sebastian is ready, waiting for him in the kitchen.

 

“I stopped by Sherlock’s,” Jim answers preemptively. “No need to get angry, I was just informing him of what is to come.” He tries to walk by, but Sebastian sticks his arm out to stop him.

 

“’What’s to come’? I thought you said that you only needed a little bit longer, was this shit only the beginning?” Sebastian asks. He’s surprisingly calm despite knowing that Jim had been with Sherlock.

 

Jim flashes a smile. “I promise you, Sebastian, it’ll only be a few months more.”

 

Sebastian watches Jim for a moment, then lets him go change. He lets out a tired sigh, unsure if he can keep his emotions held back for a few more months, if it really is only a few more months. For all he knew, when the time came he’d just think of some other reason to keep hanging around Sherlock and ignoring him. Jim is everything to him, but it’s evident now that the _Sebastian_ written on his wrist must mean someone else. He loved him too much to be his rival, but Sherlock was certainly Jim’s soulmate.

 

He follows Jim into the bedroom after a few minutes. He opens up the closest and pulls out most of his clothes, then brings them across the hallway to the spare bedroom. He tosses them onto the bed and decides that he can put everything into the closet later.

 

Jim pops his head in the door, having seen everything. “Moving out, then?” he asks. There’s no sign of anything that might be sorrow in his voice, so Sebastian just nods. Jim shrugs. “Sleep well.”

 

The first few nights are anything but restful as Sebastian keeps tossing and turning in his sleep. He doesn’t even have the faint scent of Jim on the pillows to calm him, but eventually exhaustion manages to overtake him and he passes out. Sleeping gets easier with time, but he still feels an emptiness in his chest each morning.

 

 

Sebastian can’t say he’s surprised when he sees Jim’s plans for Sherlock, he always did love dramatic reveals. Everything set up for Jim to. He feels anger bubbling under his skin, but by this point he’s too tired to act on it to any extent. Jim hasn’t shown him any sliver of affection in months, and he’s given up hope that he’ll ever see any again. They barely even speak if it’s not about work now, thought that was partially due to Jim always being at the office.

 

Still, there’s one part of the plan that he doesn’t quite agree with.

 

“I’m not giving you one of my guns,” he tells Jim, slipping into his office just as another employee left.

 

“Didn’t you want me to be safe? I’m just trying to be responsible,” Jim replies, flashing a fake smile.

 

“Yes, but there are other ways that you can protect yourself. Get another sniper watching Sherlock, or something. I just don’t want to risk him getting hold of it and using it on you.”

 

Jim holds him in his gaze for a moment, as if considering his suggestion. “No,” he decides at last. “I need a gun. I don’t need any of you lot to see what’s going to happen on the roof.”

 

“Jesus Christ, Jim,” Sebastian groans, lifting a hand to rub his temple. “If you’re just going to fuck on the roof, it’s a lot fucking easier to just get a hotel room. Just get some flowers or something.”

 

A flash of anger passes behind Jim’s eyes. “Oh, there’s that jealousy, I thought we’d been doing so well. Just keep quiet and do your job, Moran, you won’t have to deal with Sherlock any longer after this,” he snaps.

 

“I’m sure I won’t,” Sebastian retorted sarcastically. “You’ll confess your love to him on the roof and everything will just be perfect. You’ll run off together and leave me and Watson to pick up the pieces of our lives. God forbid either of you lets us down gently.”

 

“Very funny. Just lend me a gun and you won’t ever have to hear from us again.”

 

“Please,” Sebastian spits, turning on his heel. “I’ll leave a gun on my desk. Don’t wait up for me at home, I think I’m going to stay out tonight.”

 

“Just be in position tomorrow morning,” Jim calls after him.

 

Sebastian waves his hand in acknowledgement before slamming the door shut behind him. His heart is too hurt for him to have noticed how his own words seem to have cut into Jim.

 

 

Miraculously, Sebastian is in position when the time comes. He's tired and slightly hungover, but it's certainly not the first time he's completed a mission like that. It only takes him a few minutes to set up his rifle in the window, leaving him with enough time to scope his surroundings. He can see the street where Watson will show up and the edge of the roof, but not much else. He supposes Jim did say he didn't want any snipers to see what would happen, not even him.

 

The hurt he feels at that thought is just another drop in the ocean so it’s easy to shrug off. He sends Jim a short text to let him know that he was ready, then settled in to wait. Try as he might, he can’t keep his focus on searching the crowds for Watson. Whether it’s from jealousy or anger, he finds that his mind wanders to what Jim and Sherlock could be confessing on the roof. He shakes off the thoughts as soon as he notices them, but they always come creeping back in and curling dark tendrils around his heart.

 

Out of habit, Sebastian surveys his surrounds and looks up just in time to see Sherlock standing at the edge, gazing out over the city. He can’t see Jim from his position, from the looks of things he must be getting what he wants. Sherlock starts laughing and returns to the middle of the roof and out of Sebastian’s sight, so he sighs and turns his attention back to the street. At least they’re happy with each other, he supposes.

 

He spots movement that out of the corner of his eye looks like Watson, so Sebastian readjusts to get a better look. In doing so, however, he almost misses the faint sound of a gunshot. It takes him a moment to register it since no one on the streets below reacted, but once it does fear suddenly takes hold of his heart. He looks up to the roof again, cursing Jim’s name when he can’t see anything. Of course the little bastard had thought of that. A small part of Sebastian hopes that he was just hearing things, that his army years had finally started to catch up to him, but before the idea can take off he spots Sherlock at the edge of the roof again. He’s clearly panicking, and Sebastian’s heart sinks like a rock.

 

Sherlock and John speak to each other over the phone, but Sebastian’s in a stupor. He knows he’s supposed to be watching John so he can shoot at the given signal, but for the first time in years he decides to ignore Jim’s orders. He’s frozen in place as he watches Sherlock tumble over the edge, almost hoping that this was just some horrible dream. The sound of his phone snaps him out of his head long enough to clean his rifle up. Apparently shooting Watson wasn’t necessary.

 

Somehow, he finds himself heading up the stairs to St Bart’s roof, though he’s not entirely sure how he made it past security. He doesn’t particularly care, either, he just needs proof of his fear. When he gets close to the top, he stops and stares at the door labeled ‘ROOF ACCESS,’ for a moment doubting if he really wants to see what is on the other side. Part of him wants to run all the way back to the flat because if he does so then surely Jim will be waiting there, ready to laugh at him for being so foolish.

 

The other part of him needs to know for certain, and that’s the part that pushes his feet onwards to the top of the stairs. When he finally makes it through the door he watches the skyline, finding any excuse not to look down. It takes him a moment, but he manages to swallow his fears and look to the middle of the roof to see his worst fear.

 

Sebastian keeps his gaze on one of Jim’s shoes as he approaches the body. Blood doesn’t make him squeamish, but the thought if it being _Jim’s_ makes him sick to his stomach. Once he’s standing beside the body he stops, still staring at the shiny leather shoe as he braces himself. When he feels he’s ready, he scans the body quickly, noting the pool of blood around him. There was too much for the shot to have been anything but fatal, so he doesn’t bother checking for a pulse.

 

He turns around once he’s made his assessment, not wanting the image of Jim’s lifeless eyes burned into his mind. He sends a text off to the head of the clean-up team, just keeping his message to the bare minimum. It vibrates with a reply as he puts it back in his pocket, but Sebastian doesn’t bother checking it, assuming it’s just an affirmative. He just wants to get to his cigarettes faster.

 

“I guess not all of those stories about the marks are false,” he mutters to himself as he lights a cigarette. He takes a long drag off of it, enjoying the sting in his lungs for a second before exhaling. Without looking back, he heads back to the stairwell. With most of the attention at the front of the building, no one stops him on his way out, allowing him to disappear down the streets with ease.

 

Crime stops for no man, and he has a lot of work to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Odi et amo - I hate and I love
> 
> This is another one I've had in the works for a bit. Based on a tumblr post that I can't seem to find anymore about basically having a soul enemy. Technically, this should be the end of the fic, but I am weak and it hurts me too much to leave it here. So, the second chapter is an epilogue of sorts, if you wish to read that. If not, then I hope you enjoyed.


	2. Epilogue

Supposedly, time heals all wounds. Sebastian has plenty of evidence against that on his body alone, so he’s not inclined to believe it. Time certainly helps, yes, but none of his scars ever disappeared.

 

Not to mention his emotional scars. People might say that he was at least getting better over the past two years, but in reality he’d just gotten better at hiding things. Most days he just fell into a routine and focused on work until he was too exhausted to stay up any longer. It likely wasn’t healthy, but it kept him going.

 

He’s better at running the business now more than ever before, but that didn’t come easily. He had to downsize to make things more manageable, and some parts of the business just seemed to fall apart on their own despite Sebastian’s best efforts. Eventually it got to a point where he could sustain it, even if it still didn’t run as smoothly as before.

 

Sebastian knows something is wrong when his most trusted informant enters his office with a look of apprehension on her face. She has an unmarked folder in her hands, so it must be something that just happened.

 

“I thought you ought to know about this,” she says, placing the folder on his desk. She steps back and falls into attention, waiting to be dismissed.

 

Sebastian eyes the folder for a moment before flipping the cover open. Instantly he regrets it. The very first thing in it is a photo of one Sherlock Holmes in London, dated in the last week and looking much too alive. His jaw clenches and fury burns in his chest, but he doesn’t take it out on his informant. He closes the file and takes a deep breath to calm himself.

 

“Thank you,” he says at last. “I’ll be sure to pay him a visit. You may go.” He ignores the look of pity he can see out of the corner of his eye before she heads out the door.

 

 

It’s laughably easy for Sebastian to track him down. It seemed once he got to London he slid right into his old habits, even if his doctor had seemingly moved on. He’s too comfortable to watch his back for anyone following him, a rookie mistake.

 

Sherlock doesn’t even notice him until Sebastian’s walking down an alleyway towards him, eyes full of anger. He sees him freeze in place, giving him just enough time to close the distance and punch him. The hit sends Sherlock reeling, and Sebastian intends to just keep walking but he stops when he hears laughter behind him.

 

“You must be Sebastian Moran, then.”

 

Sebastian turns slowly and levels Sherlock with a flat glare. He knows he should just keep walking and not engage, but some small part of him hopes that this might give him the closure he desperately needs. “Maybe I’m just a bloke that wanted to punch the next person I crossed,” he replies casually.

 

Sherlock narrows his eyes to deduce him as best he can given that one is slowly swelling shut. Sebastian lets him. It’s not like anything terrible could come of it anyway.

 

“No, no, you’re definitely are. Ex-military, but you’ve got a very high paying job. You not only had knowledge of my return, but had no qualms about tracking me down just for payback. And given the burn marks on your wrist, you were the lover of one James Moriarty,” he replies, a twinkle of triumph in his eyes.

 

“He wasn’t my lover.” It’s the only thing that Sebastian can deny out of the list.

 

Sherlock rolls his eyes and sighs, but Sebastian isn’t looking at him. “No need to pretend, I saw your name on his wrist, and I know he certainly wasn’t my soulmate.”

 

Sebastian can’t help but to snort at that. “Yeah, well, you didn’t live with him. Bastard was obsessed with you in a way that he’d never feel for me. He might not have been yours, but you sure were his,” he spat.

 

“If we were meant to be soulmates, then he wouldn’t have forced me off of that roof.”

 

That stuns Sebastian slightly, though he’s careful not to let it show on his face. He’d come to think Jim wanted to carry out some strange suicide pact so they could be together, but perhaps he’d just wanted to eliminate his rival for his own peace of mind. He found it hard to believe, given how obsessed he’d been leading up to the incident, but it made a tiny flicker of hope in his heart.

 

Sherlock motions towards Sebastian’s wrists when it becomes apparent that he isn’t going to reply. “Your father burned your marks off, I presume? The wounds are certainly old,” he asks.

 

Sebastian clenches his fists subconsciously. Of all the people he wanted to talk about this with, Sherlock was dead last, if not close. “How astute of you to notice,” he replies, fixing him with a cold glare.

 

“One was Moriarty’s, obviously. The other must have been a male name, otherwise your father wouldn’t have bothered. Given our interaction so far, I presume it was my name on your other wrist,” he declares. He lifts his eyebrows, clearly expecting Sebastian to be in shock that he was right.

 

Instead, Sebastian laughs, not letting himself even think back to his father. “Don’t get too full of yourself, you aren’t so important to me that it was your name on my wrist. I punched you because I wanted to punch you, nothing more,” he sneers.

 

The shocked look on Sherlock’s face is priceless to Sebastian, and he’d cherish it as long as he lived. He turns to leave while digging for a cigarette, feeling far better than he did earlier.

 

“Then whose was the other name?” Sherlock calls out.

 

Sebastian stops and considers not answering as he lights the cigarette. “It was Jim’s,” he says over his shoulder.

 

He catches a glimpse of a second shocked expression as he pops the cigarette into his mouth and continues back on his way.

 

* * *

 

  

Things get better, slowly. Eventually Sebastian is able to sleep without being exhausted and his dreams aren’t plagued with images of dark eyes and wicked minds. The business grows, too, as Sebastian is able to reestablish some of the braches that had fallen apart in the wake of Jim’s death, either from his own incompetence or from Sherlock dismantling them. It’s still nowhere near what it used to be, but Sebastian is proud of his work.

 

He still doesn’t do much outside of work, it’s not like anyone would ever go on a date with his wrists the way they were. He doesn’t mind, though, it just gives him time to focus on writing or fixing up his motorcycle.

 

By the time winter rolls around, Sebastian is starting to feel more like himself and less like a robot going through the motions. Maybe it’s the cold air finally clearing out his mind, or maybe it’s just the general joy of the season giving him false hope. Either way, he doesn’t really mind.

 

The news of Magnussen doesn’t surprise him when he reads it in the paper, and nor does he really care. He never liked blackmailers anyway, even if they did have their use. It was at the very least another possible threat to the business taken care of without any extra work from him, and it had kept Holmes and Watson off of his tail in the meantime.

 

Something feels off weeks later, but Sebastian can’t quite put his finger on what it is. He runs through his schedule while lying in bed to make sure he isn’t forgetting a meeting or anything, but all of his time is accounted for. It doesn’t make the knot in his gut disappear, but it at least gives him the peace of mind to ignore it.

 

Everything goes smoothly at the office, and no one else he asked had the same feeling. Sebastian tries to assure himself that it’s nothing, but a few of his employees periodically check on him through the day.

 

It’s not until he’s out shopping for groceries that the knot in his gut starts to grow. No one else in the store seems to be feeling the same way he did, and that just makes him feel like a fish out of water. He does his best to act calm as he finishes getting what he needs, but he walks out of the store at a much faster pace than he needs to. All he knows is that he needs to get home where he’s got layers of security and more than enough weapons to protect himself.

 

He doesn’t let himself break out into a run, but he still gets some looks as he barrels down the streets on his way home. The knot gets heavier and heavier as he gets closer to the flat, and for a moment he feels like he’s about to vomit.

 

Sebastian’s three blocks away from the flat when he hears the static. The knot in his gut is so heavy that it stops him in his tracks, and all he can do is turn to face the origin of the noise. He feels his jaw drop and for a moment he thinks he’s dreaming. There’s no way that the images on the screens could be real, not unless someone wanted to toy with him. Then, he decides that no, it’s not a dream, since his dreams aren’t usually this kind to him. So he must be dead, a client must have finally put a bullet through his head and he was just getting a taste of what heaven might have been like before being dragged to hell.

 

Suddenly the knot that had been weighing him down disappears, and while everyone else is still staring shocked at the screens, he turns and runs. The looks he get don’t matter to him despite how hard he’d worked earlier to appear calm, all that he cares about is getting home. By the time he reaches the door he’s panting slightly, but not enough to make him stop.

 

He doesn’t hesitate in front of the door but instead just pushes his way inside. The flat is just how he left it in the morning, except for the man standing in the living room.

 

Sebastian drops his bags of groceries on the ground and stalks up to the man, their eyes locked together. The other opens his mouth to say something when he gets close, but before he can say a word Sebastian’s fist meets his face.

 

“You _bastard_!” Sebastian shouts, grabbing Jim by his shoulders. He gives him a shake, then forces him backwards until his back hits the nearest wall. “Three _fucking_ years, and this is how you greet me? You couldn’t even do it in person first.”

 

“I didn’t know you’d go directly to the store after work,” Jim replies. His voice is soft and tired, and Sebastian takes a moment to actually take in his appearance. He’s still wearing a suit, yes, but it doesn’t fit as cleanly as it did before. He’d taken on a gauntly look, and the bags under his eyes made it seem like he hadn’t gotten a full nights rest in months at the very least.

 

Sebastian sighs and relaxes his grip on Jim, careful not to accidentally hurt him. “You better have a damn good explanation for this,” he warns.

 

Jim smiles up at him and he can see the same devious glint in his eye that he’d fallen for so many years ago. “I do, if you’ll give me the time of day to share it.”

 

“Depends, are you going to find another Sherlock to go gallivanting around with?”

 

Jim holds up his left hand to show off his mark, the _Sebastian_ still as bright and glittery as he remembered it. It’s the first time that Jim has ever acknowledged the mark in front of him, and Sebastian forgets to breathe.

 

“Even if I did, I don’t think I want to go anywhere without my soulmate again,” he replies.

 

Sebastian leaned in and crashed their lips together, desperate to make up for every missed kiss from the past three years. He would have believed he was in some cruel dream, but as the kiss went on he never woke up and his knuckles kept aching. Jim was real, and alive, and pressing against just so perfectly.

 

“You’re still a fucking idiot, you know,” Sebastian pants when they break apart. He keeps Jim in his arms, afraid that if he let go then he’d disappear again. Fortunately, Jim doesn’t protest and even rests his head on his shoulder. “You’re going to have to make up for all the misery you put me through.”

 

“I’m aware,” Jim replies softly. “To be fair, though, you didn’t need to punch me.”

 

Sebastian hums as if considering Jim’s words, then shakes his head. “No, I definitely had to,” he decides, clenching one of his hands behind the other’s back. Jim lifts his head and raises an eyebrow as if to ask why, but he doesn’t let him get the question out. “I’ll explain later. I’ve been meaning to talk about it for a while, really.”

 

“Sounds like we both have some things to get off of our chests.”

 

Sebastian hums in agreement and holds Jim closer. For the first time in more than three years, everything is right with the world.


End file.
